


Anchor for a Solace

by Zormikea



Series: Maxwell of Sorrows [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zormikea/pseuds/Zormikea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "A Breach in His Heart".</p><p>There was a time when two warriors with similar goals tried to forge a friendship. However, there was more to it, and while the Inquisitor reluctantly understood and tried dealing with it, the Commander turned out to be a completely different case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello again!_
> 
> _Welcome to the sequel of "A Breach in His Heart". If you haven't read the first story yet, I strongly recommend to do so, otherwise you won't understand a thing._
> 
> _That aside, here you go! I hope you'll enjoy the first chapter :3_

Cullen Rutherford had always been a man of dignity and unwavering faith. Even at times of utter darkness when the foundation of his beliefs crumbled right under his feet, when the Circle of Ferelden had been overrun by abominations, when Meredith had raised her blade against Hawke, or when the Breach had torn the sky apart – even then he’d prayed and held his ground like a righteous servant of the Maker. He’d taught himself to be strong, to keep his mouth shut when he wanted to scream, to work like a smooth-running mechanism. And he’d managed just fine… until he befriended Maxwell.

The Commander’s heart bled when he was forced to change. He hurt his friend both mentally and physically, pushed him away, rejected him and locked him in that small room so he would wait for his dreadful destiny - alone, scared, and abandoned. Following the well-trodden pattern, decisions that his faith considered right, Cullen broke himself to a state where he sometimes functioned just barely, his eyes unfocused and mind blank.

 _Traitor._ The last word he’d heard from Maxwell. The word that had been wandering in the empty rooms of his consciousness ever since. The Commander still worked, handled reports, documents and agents – everything he’d been doing before the Elder God fell, but the outer world stayed where it was – outside. His left hand was the only thread that kept him tied to reality.

The Commander had put all of his force into that stab. Maxwell had been right, he was a traitor. They had matching holes in their palms now, and that would always remind Cullen of his true nature.

He never told anyone about their fight. Spared bits and pieces of the Inquisitor’s last battle against Corypheus when the other advisors started asking, and Maxwell’s appearance prevented them from questioning further. Red veins, glowing eyes and sharp teeth; rough spots on the man’s skin where lyrium would soon start to grow – the last present he’d gotten from his destroyer was too distracting.

Later, tranquility made it all disappear together with Maxwell’s personality. Loyal, independent and fallen, he was now gone, and the only thing that remained was a human-looking shell with two marks: the Anchor, the light of which had died together with Maxwell’s horrified pleas during the ritual, and the lyrium brand on his forehead. Leliana said they’d added a vertical line inside the slightly deformed sun, making the whole brand somewhat resemble the icon of the Inquisition. So that it would fit.

Now he was just a quiet resident of the Skyhold fortress. Stripped of his status, Maxwell rarely left his chamber and was more of a pet than an actual person. He talked when he was talked to, remembered his past to some extent and was able to think, but his motivation and emotions had completely faded. At least that was what Josephine said when Cullen asked her about it: the man couldn’t find courage to visit Maxwell himself.

And so his days passed, days filled with self-loathing, despair and pain. Cullen took a habit of disturbing the wound on his hand, adding to that company, and that usually attracted Cole: the spirit had asked to soothe the Commander’s mind more than once by now, and each time Cullen rejected his offer.

He didn’t find it appealing enough.

Instead, he asked Cole why he hadn’t come to Maxwell, long ago, and the spirit said that he hadn’t known. He’d never heard the man suffer, not even when he’d been sitting in that room. _Why,_ was the main question, and there was no one who could answer.

The Herald was gone, but puzzles remained.

***

The moon was crawling up the sky when Cullen woke up at his desk with his cheek nestled against a smooth surface of unread reports. He frowned and slowly raised his head in an attempt to gather his surroundings - sadly, the task turned out to be more difficult than he’d expected. The Commander groaned and brought a hand to his eyes, rubbing away the remains of his sleep.

With his current way of living it was no miracle his body came to an abrupt shutdown. If he continued like that, he’d find himself in the infirmary pretty soon…

“You need to see him,” a voice stated, and he almost jumped out of his skin. Cullen’s eyes darted to his left and met the recently elected Inquisitor, a betrayed and battle scarred woman who still showed an impressive amount of will. Cassandra tore away from the wall and approached, watching him intently with her left eye – her right was broken and ugly, so she kept it hidden under an eye patch that only added to her already intimidating look.

“How long have you been here?” Cullen asked tiredly, not even trying to straighten his back. If it had been someone else, he would’ve put more effort in regaining proper appearance, but the Seeker was way too sharp and suspected way too much to be fooled.

“Long enough,” Cassandra answered. She laid a hand on the Commander’s shoulder and squeezed it, flattening the thick fur. “And don’t pretend you haven’t heard what I just said. You’re getting worse. You need him.”

“He needed me too,” the man muttered, staring at his knees.

“Maybe he still does.”

“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t need anything anymore.”

The Seeker sighed and dropped her hand, and somehow the loss of contact was frightening.

Despite the injury, the first question Cassandra had come up with upon regaining consciousness was centered on Maxwell’s well-being. They’d erased his personality days before she woke up, and when she found out, she became devastated. Days passed, weeks, and even though it was believed that time healed, Cullen knew she couldn’t get over it. He knew, because he felt the same.

He also knew she would’ve tried to protect Maxwell from his fate, and that knowledge made him feel utterly pathetic even though he’d been on the battlefield and seen the Herald’s downfall with his very own eyes.

“I see,” Cassandra sighed in defeat, and the Commander was thankful she didn’t use her position and order him to visit Maxwell against his will. The woman raised her hand and rubbed the back of her neck, glancing down at his table. “Go sleep upstairs at least. I’ll handle the reports.”

Cullen blinked and sat silent for a moment, processing her words. “No, I have to deal with these myself,” he then objected. “You’re busy enough as you are. Can’t do my work for me...”

“But I am the Inquisitor, Commander,” Cassandra shook her head, crushing his resistance with a single fact. “There is nothing I can’t do.”

He couldn’t object to that.

***

Another week passed, and the Commander was returning from the practice ground when he saw Varric leaving the former Inquisitor’s wing. The dwarf closed the door behind him quietly, raised his head, and suddenly Cullen’s heart sank. He fidgeted, deciding if he should turn back or proceed forward as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but Varric was quicker and caught him staring. He began walking towards the Commander, efficiently robbing him of his choice.

“Curly,” he started in a strained voice as soon as he reached him, “this is the worst backstab I have ever seen.”

No greeting. Cullen swallowed a lump in his throat and brought his hands behind his back as nervousness kicked in. It was the first time he saw Varric since the last battle.

“There was no other choice…” he mumbled, crossing his fingers together. “He lost his mind. He killed his people- our people. I couldn’t save him…”

“Yeah, well, keep telling yourself that,” Varric grunted and adjusted Bianca on his broad shoulder. Then he looked up and scowled at the Commander, and Cullen could swear he’d never seen the dwarf so angry. “I ain’t finishing this book. Take care.”

Varric didn’t wait for an answer and simply took off, and Cullen felt his breath hitch as he watched the dwarf go with his shoulders stiff and his hand glued to his bag. It wasn’t hard to guess he was keeping his doomed to stay unfinished masterpiece in it.

“Varric…” the Commander whispered, dropping his chin, and even though the dwarf was already too far away to actually hear the call, he turned around.

“One more thing,” he said, and Cullen flinched, expecting the worst. “I hope you have a good memory, Curly. He won’t be able to sing properly anymore.”

“To… sing?” The Commander tilted his head; he hadn’t expected… well, this. He’d never heard Maxwell sing before. But now that he was thinking about it, he hadn’t really spent that much time with the man. They’d usually been busy training or discussing missions or other important matters…

“Yeah,” Varric nodded. “What, he was too shy to do that in front of you?”

“I… I don’t know,” Cullen answered. He looked back at the past, trying to fish out fitting memories, but none of those he had focused on Maxwell’s hobbies.

“Forget about it, then,” the dwarf shrugged once. “I guess he’ll be singing to Hawke next. ‘On the other side’… And Hawke- he deserves it. I mean, he even gave his life. Because they were, you know, _friends_.”

The Commander gritted his teeth.

“Anyway, time to go. See you later. Maybe.” Varric bowed - the movement looked awfully forced - and turned back to the entrance again. As he went, Cullen struggled to worm his way out of the hidden blame the dwarf had just thrown him in.

Besides Maxwell, he was the only one who’d survived through the final massacre. Stopped the Herald before he’d have opened a rift to butcher those who hadn’t yet arrived. If people thought he’d been having a great time while Maxwell screamed in fear in front of the inevitable, if they thought he was glad things ended this way, they were wrong.

He’d done nothing to deserve this.

Nothing.

Furious, the Commander darted off from his spot and let his legs carry him to the former Inquisitor’s chamber. Maybe he hadn’t heard the man sing and maybe he hadn’t given his life for him, but Maker knew Cullen had done all he could to help. Maxwell was the one who’d stopped being honest. Who’d shut the Commander outside. Even then, Cullen had tried to call out to him only to be rejected again.

He could have voted for an execution.

The door smashed open, revealing a place he hadn’t visited for a long time. It was a lot cleaner now, and brighter. The bed was made and the curtains stayed open.

Maxwell was sitting at his table, his hands folded on top of an open book and eyes watching the courtyard through the closest window. As soon as he heard someone enter, he turned his head, and Cullen got an eyeful of his lyrium ‘sun’. The Commander felt sick.

Apart from the brand, his expressionless face and not glowing hand, the Herald looked the same as before. He studied the intruder’s features for a few seconds, and then greeted him with a hollow voice:

“Good morning, Commander. I see you are doing well today.”

He was gone. Maxwell was gone.

Cullen inhaled a shaky breath and stepped closer, his feet leaden. “Good morning,” he said. “I…”

It was difficult to look at the man now that he fully realized his state. When the Herald had voiced his greeting, there was no emotion to it, only a vast, endless void - a punishment Cullen had allowed to happen. Maybe Varric was right, and Hawke was the one who deserved to hear the real Maxwell once they met after life.

Yet…

“…sing to me,” the Commander asked quietly. Maxwell shifted on his chair and took a moment to get the request.

“I am afraid a tranquil is not suited to meet your expectations this time, Commander,” he said evenly. “Perhaps you should ask someone else to do that.”

“No, someone else… won’t do,” Cullen objected weakly. “I want it… need it. To be you.”

The Herald hummed and looked to his side, probably reconsidering the man’s words, and it pained the Commander to observe him. He had no right to ask anything from Maxwell, not after what he had done. Still, when the tranquil looked back and nodded, he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It grew and flourished and pushed all of his grim thoughts aside.

“What would you like to hear?” Maxwell asked.

“Anything,” the Commander choked out. “Anything you like.”

The Herald nodded again. “As you wish.”

He took a small breath, opened his mouth and sang:

 _Shadows fall, and hope has fled_ _  
Steel your heart, the dawn will come…_

Content before that, Cullen’s eyes suddenly widened as he recognized the words.

 _The night is long, and the path is dark_ _  
Look to the sky, for one day soon_

_The dawn will come…_

He’d heard this song at the time of cold and need. It had helped the Inquisition – and him - to overcome the tragedy of great loss. Maxwell was singing it now, and it sounded empty and dead; the Commander felt all the warmth flee from his heart as it gained quicker pace, his worries returning. He wondered if it was some kind of a cruel joke-

 _The shepherd's lost, and his home is far_  
_Keep to the stars, the dawn will come_  
_The night is long, and the path is dark_  
_Look to the sky, for one day soon_  
_The dawn will co-_

“Stop!” The Commander shouted, desperate, and Maxwell followed the order on instant. He looked at Cullen with understanding, one of a false sort.

“As I have said, I am unable to put much emotion into my singing,” he said. “However, I am most certain you will be satisfied if someone else sings to you.”

It wasn’t that at all. Cullen shivered, took a few unsteady steps back and then rushed out of the chamber as fast as it was humanly possible. He’d made a mistake coming back. He’d known he would suffer, and yet he still got caught.

His heart was bleeding all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

There was grass under his feet but no sky above his head.

Thick fog slowly crept backwards, escaping the Commander’s eyes, thus the man stood freely in the middle of what seemed to be a giant hall with countless columns that supported an uneven, dark ceiling. All around him, burning and deformed, lay corpses; their stench mixed with dim puffs of light and hovered above the ground, threatening to get closer.

Cullen had no idea how he could have gotten here or where this “here” was. Last thing he remembered was… actually, he had no idea.

“Commander!” Maxwell suddenly called, from somewhere, and he spun around just in time to see the man walk out of the fog and approach, soft dirt clinging to the soles of his boots but hardly slowing him down. The Herald was grinning.

Cullen frowned at him; he sensed something off about the man’s presence but couldn’t point his finger at a particular reason.

“Yeah…?” he responded. “Maxwell, what happened in here?”

The Herald’s grin reduced to an uncertain smile and then disappeared altogether.  He stopped a few steps away from the Commander and tilted his head.

“Are you… drugged or something?” the man asked and pointed up at the sky. “I’ve closed the Breach, yeah? And killed all these guys so they wouldn’t get in the way.”

“Killed them…?”

Cullen gaped for a moment in disbelief; he couldn’t remember Maxwell killing anyone in such a manner, ever. Burning and deformed wasn’t his style, and it didn’t fit his personality at all. Besides, the only weapons the Herald had on him were his two-handed sword and a knife attached to his belt.

“How did you burn them?” Cullen asked, a frown similar to Maxwell’s forming on his face.

Maxwell stared at him for a good while in response, looking like he was utterly confused and offended by the lack of understanding he received. Then he sighed and raised his marked hand. “Like this?”

A rich green flame burst from the Anchor and ate his entire palm on instant. The Herald smirked and clenched his fingers in a fist, and Cullen could see the eerie light slip through the tiny gaps.

“I didn’t think you could do that…” he muttered, pictures of Maxwell cutting and setting his targets on emerald fire invading his mind. It was so unnatural his brain immediately put these aside and defined them as ridiculous and impossible.

“Yeah, I can,” the Herald assured him. “I got almost everyone in here. There’s still a target, but that’s okay, I have time.”

The Commander watched as Maxwell lowered his hand, the light never fading.

“A target?” he repeated.

“Yeah, just one,” the Herald said, and then his grin returned full force, menacing and predatory. “You, Cullen. You are still alive.”

The air stiffened, making it difficult to breathe. The Commander took a shaky step back, increasing the distance between himself and the man as the implication sank in.

“What-” he started, but Maxwell cut him off.

“You betrayed me, Cullen,” the Herald reminded. “Don’t think I forgot. You may have me chained for now, but that doesn’t mean it will always be like that. I’ll find a way to free myself, and when that happens, I’ll come after you.”

Terror filled the Commander like water; Maxwell was simply standing there, his sword and knife sheathed, yet his eyes were shining with barely restrained rage. Cullen suddenly remembered everything that had happened, how he’d left the man to his punishment, how he’d betrayed him. Guilt hit him right in the wounded heart, and he let out an almost inaudible whimper.

“Better be ready,” Maxwell recommended, and after that everything vanished in a flash.

Cullen bolted upright in his bed with a pained cry; his chest was heaving, and his mind was racing, and he was unable to calm himself down for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a longer chapter at first, but this scene looks good on its own, so I'm posting it separately.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Don’t give me that! I’m your friend, am I not? Whatever happened, you can tell me, I promise I won’t leave you!”_

_“I will not fail this time. I will do everything I can to protect you.”_

_“I am scared. Scared of losing you.”_

-

It was so early the sun wasn’t yet peeking out from the tops of the mountains. Most residents of the Skyhold fortress would find it extremely annoying if someone decided to visit them at such an hour, but politeness was hardly on the Commander’s mind as he hurried down the corridor to the former Inquisitor’s chamber.

He didn’t want to go there at first. Not there. Cassandra would have been a better choice; she’d always been a supporting pillar for everyone around her, and Cullen let himself depend on that more than he would ever dare to admit. With time, she had also become his friend – not like Maxwell, that was a peculiar brand of friendship – but a person whom he could trust. With all his fears and uncertainties, the Commander should have gone to her chamber.

Yet here he was, his hand tight around the doorknob and throat dry. Cullen looked up at the ceiling and wondered why he’d made this choice, and there was no answer in his head except for _I need to see him right now_.

“Maker’s Breath,” he whispered, took a deep breath and opened the door.

_You may have me chained for now, but that doesn’t mean it will always be like that._

Even without their emotions, the Tranquil still led a normal, human life and weren’t much different from anyone else. They ate the same food, read the same books, and undoubtedly had the very same needs. That was why the Commander was expecting to find Maxwell asleep in his bed… only he wasn’t there, and it stood empty and untouched. Cullen spotted the man by the window instead, the one he’d been looking at when they “reunited” after his punishment. Back then, that detail hadn’t caught the Commander’s attention.

Soft moonlight was caressing Maxwell’s face, making him look like a divine creature from a place far, far away. A place where sins were nothing but a cruel fable. If Cullen hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the man had never killed anyone in his life.

_I’ll find a way to free myself, and when that happens, I’ll come after you._

The Commander closed the door a bit louder than necessary to inform Maxwell of his arrival. The Herald didn’t turn to face him right away, but his expression changed - rather uncharacteristically for a tranquil - as he frowned at the moon. Slowly, Cullen’s hand slid towards the hilt of his sword. He stopped it midway and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“Hello,” a shallow voice greeted him. The frown faded from Maxwell’s face, and the usual emptiness returned. There were no signs of danger.

“Hey,” Cullen answered quietly. His eyes darted to the window. “What are you looking at?”

Maxwell kept watching the outside world calmly. He brought his hands up to lean onto the windowsill, and Cullen noticed a folded sheet of paper clutched in his fingers. He wondered what it was.

“I am waiting,” Maxwell said.

Waiting.

“Waiting for what?” Cullen glanced up at him.

“For Solas,” the Herald answered. Utterly surprised, the Commander opened his mouth and then closed it again; he hadn’t expected to hear that at all.

“Solas visited you? Here…?” he breathed out.

_Better be ready._

“How did he do that?” the man went on. “What did he say?”

When Corypheus had been defeated, and Cullen brought his fallen friend back to the other advisors, the elf was nowhere to be found. He’d simply vanished, and since then there’d been no news from him or about him. Maxwell had lost his personality waiting for his healer, and he never came. Solas had abandoned him, so why would he even bother coming back now? And how on Thedas had he managed to contact the tranquil without being detected? Leliana’s agents were scattered all over Skyhold, and if he’d sneaked in, she’d have known.

The Herald wasn’t helping with his silence.

“Cole, if you’re anywhere near, I need you,” Cullen whispered, taking a step forward. If Maxwell was regaining his connection to the Fade, and Solas had used _that_ to contact him, there was a tiny chance the spirit would be able to tell.

“What’s on the paper?” the Commander asked while he was waiting for Cole’s response, and the Herald finally tore his concentration away from the window and focused it on the man.

Cullen fidgeted. He wasn’t sure why.

“It’s a letter,” Maxwell answered, bringing up the folded paper. “Hawke left it for me before we went to Adamant.”

“Hawke…?”

“Yes. I should keep it close.”

“Solas told you that?” the Commander pushed, and again, Maxwell chose not to answer. His fingers fumbled with a thin, white corner, and he dropped his stare to the floor. One would probably assume he was uncertain. An uncertain tranquil.

“Cole…?” the Commander called again.

No one was answering. Cullen recalled the spirit saying he’d never heard any of Maxwell’s suffering and wondered if the same thing was happening here. They’d never discovered the reason. Maybe he needed to leave the chamber in order to summon him?

“Do you want to read it?”

“…huh?”

“The letter. Do you want to read it?” Maxwell repeated, pressing the paper to his chest. “You keep looking at it.”

“A-ah. Right.” The Commander muttered, noticing that only now. He wasn’t sure. Hawke and Maxwell had been a pretty good pair of friends, and there was that little noisy feeling inside Cullen’s chest that poisoned his thoughts with a suspicion there had been more. Somehow, it was a sore spot, and that was strange because Cullen was sure jealousy didn’t rise from nothing.

_Did he confess to you?_

“ _Can_ I read it?” the man asked.

“No,” Maxwell answered. It was quick.

“Thought so,” Cullen grunted.

Even if it wasn’t really logical. Hawke was dead, and Maxwell was a tranquil, so he didn’t have any reasons to hide the contents of that letter. It may have been the result of his loyalty, or a memory of it… But then again, Maxwell was a tranquil.

 _“I am sorry,”_ a voice cut in next to the Commander’s ear. _“You called me, and I heard you. But. There was a woman. She was devastated. She needed help.”_

Cole appeared right beside Cullen, and the latter flinched as soon as he realized he was no longer standing there alone. He was accustomed to the spirit visiting him but still hadn’t gotten used to his abruptness.

“Hello, Cole,” the Herald greeted. Cole looked at him and didn’t say anything in return; the Commander supposed that was because he couldn’t accept the massacre that had happened during the battle against Corypheus.

“I wanted to ask if you can feel anything different about him. Or if you’ve seen Solas lately,” Cullen began. He wanted to know about the letter, but it would have to wait. “I’m not sure, but I think Maxwell can be... well…”

 _“Returning,”_ Cole understood him, his eyes lingering on the former Inquisitor. _“No. He is not. You cut him off from the Fade. No connection.”_

…what about the nightmare? 

“I see.”

If it was true, then it meant Solas had no opportunity to meet the Herald while he was dreaming. He’d have to enter Skyhold and invade the castle to find him.

“So then,” the Commander summed up, “Solas was here physically.”

 _“No,”_ the spirit shook his head in disagreement, taking Cullen’s guess away. He then made a pause and stared at his feet, his hand absently playing with the edge of his hat. _“…I don’t know. It is hard to see him sometimes. Most times.”_

“So… he could be here? He _can_ be here?” Cullen asked, scowling, and he turned to watch Maxwell intently. “Tell me, what does he want? Why does he have to hide?”

The Herald wasn’t in a hurry to answer. The moonlight kissed his lyrium sun, and the man seemed unearthly. He wasn’t pressing the letter to his chest anymore, and he wasn’t focused on his guests, either. When Maxwell answered, his voice was small.

“He wanted to see what I have become. He promised to fix me.”

Cullen blinked at him. “To fix you?”

“Yes. He said it was okay. I have time.”

_I have time._

The letter was forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello-hello!
> 
> It's been a couple of months, and I'm sorry for making you wait- if there's anyone still reading this, that is. There should be no such delays in the future.

A helpless sigh escaped Cullen’s lips as he was leaving the throne room. His legs were weak from tiredness the previous night had gifted him, and his mind was heavy with nagging questions and suspicions. Thick and relentless, they suffocated him like a clutch of a giant snake, and no matter how the man struggled to put them in order, they fought back far more successfully than he would have wanted, crushed his attempts effortlessly.

Cole wasn’t sure what was happening within the walls of the former Inquisitor’s chamber, and the Commander wandered among guesses as blindly. The only clue he possessed was his dream, and if he chose to trust Maxwell he’d met there, then the clock was running.

Cullen had never been a big fan of puzzles, especially those that were bound to knowledge beyond his reach, and _especially_ those that had a time limit. The Herald had presented quite a few of them in the course of a single hour, and the Commander quickly found himself drowning, never certain if he was on the right track or not. Maxwell’s “tranquility”, Solas’s doubtable disappearance, _I have time_ – all of that was rather difficult to fathom.

He needed help.

Unfortunately, most of Maxwell’s companions and friends had departed upon Corypheus’s defeat, and there weren’t any mages left who knew how to deal with such a mystery. Dorian and Vivienne probably had enough experience to provide a sufficient support, but both of them had settled far away from Skyhold, and even though Cullen had decided to send crows, he needed to take immediate support where he could. That is why, as soon as he learned from Leliana that no strangers had been spotted in the area, he directed his feet towards the current Inquisitor’s chamber. Cassandra was a well-educated woman, a Seeker, and she knew Maxwell better than most – maybe she would offer a few fresh opinions.

_I have time. You are still alive._

Cullen wiped the non-existent sweat off his forehead as he walked, and when he was lowering his hand back to the sword, he caught the sight of his damaged palm. Memories of how he gained the injury flooded his mind on instant- but he needed to concentrate, to shut out his emotions, so he ordered himself to focus on the current task and proceeded.

Cassandra didn’t seem to be awfully surprised by his visit. The Commander found her sitting at the table, documents and letters scattered all around but hardly keeping her busy. There was, however, a book lying in front of her, and judging by the way it was open, Cassandra was through the bigger part of it already.

It was strange to see her neglecting her duties in favor of reading.

“Good morning,” Cullen greeted her. “I need to discuss something with you. It is urgent.”

The woman didn’t answer – simply pointed at an empty chair, and the Commander closed the door before following her silent order. Being the Inquisitor sharpened Cassandra’s perception, and Cullen was positive she already knew what he was going to talk about.

“It’s Maxwell, isn’t it,” she stated more than asked, and the Commander shrugged with one shoulder, sitting down on the offered chair. “What happened? You look like you haven’t slept again.”

Cullen propped his elbows on the table. “I dreamt of Maxwell,” he said. “The dream was… discouraging, and kept me awake through the rest of the night.”

Cassandra blinked at him. “What did he do?”

“Most importantly, he wasn’t acting like a tranquil,” the man answered, batting away the instinctual need to observe the eye-patch. “I rarely get coherent dreams, and this one was… so vivid. It felt real, like I was actually there... with him.”

The Inquisitor nodded.

“Long story short, he implied that he was going to find a way to return himself to his body and then strike me down.”

“What…?”

Cullen raised a hand to put the incoming questions on hold and went on with the story. “Apparently, some part of him may be looking for a way to re-connect.”

Cassandra spared a glance at the book, frowning. She didn’t attempt to interrupt the Commander, though, and listened patiently as he spoke.

“I went to his chamber when I woke up,” the man continued. “He wasn’t asleep and told me that he was waiting for Solas. It confused me at first, but now I think he might be willing to help Maxwell achieve his goal.” The letter came to Cullen’s mind as well, but he chose not to dwell upon that yet. “So I called out to Cole, and he came… but he told me, though hesitantly, that he hadn’t sensed Solas’s presence at all. And according to him, Maxwell is not returning.”

“I see.”

“And Maxwell… he repeated the exact same words he’d told me in my dream,” Cullen added, feeling shiver run down his spine at the thought. “That he had time… All of this can’t be just a big coincidence, can it?”

Cassandra sighed in response, and straightened her back, leaning into the chair. It may have been due to the light of a half-burned candle that slid over her skin, but suddenly she looked a lot older. Cullen noticed dim traces of exhaustion under her eyes now that he was watching closely, and her hair, though neatly combed, seemed dry and uneven.

She rubbed her eyelids.

“What exactly did Cole say about Solas?”

The Commander hummed, returning to the night, scanning the events for the remaining bits of phrases he’d heard. If he’d gotten it right, then… “I think, Cole told me it’s hard to see him. He didn’t explain further. So…”

“So, that means that we do not truly know if Solas was here or not.” Cassandra summed up thoughtfully. “We should ask Leliana if her agents have encountered anything strange recently. Or have you already done that?”

“They haven’t detected anything,” the Commander shook his head. “He must have come up with a clever way to disguise himself. To hide from both our and Cole’s eyes. And if he didn’t, then… I do not know what to believe anymore.”

“Hm.” Cassandra waited for him to continue, but Cullen didn’t really know what to add at this point. He watched as she flattened the old pages of the book she’d been reading and stilled his breath when he came across the lines.

“What is this?” he asked.

The Inquisitor took a moment before answering. “This,” she said, “is a book our agents recovered from the Lord Seeker a few days ago.”

“The Lord Seeker?”

“Yes. It contains knowledge you may find interesting. For instance,” Cassandra tapped a page with her slim finger, “there is a way to reverse Tranquility. And I am a perfect example, since, apparently, I used to be one.”

The Commander gaped at her for a good minute - perhaps less, but when he finally managed to wrap his head around the idea, it certainly seemed so. Maxwell’s face flashed in front of his eyes and then faded as swiftly, letting Cassandra’s focused expression take its place - life had a cruel sense of humor, making them have something like this in common.

The Seeker turned the book towards Cullen so that he would see for himself.

“To become a Seeker, I spent months in a vigil, emptying myself of all emotion,” she explained. “I was made tranquil, and did not even know. Then the vigil summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That broke Tranquility – and gave me my abilities.”

“So… Maxwell will come back if a spirit touches him…?” Cullen breathed out, the woman’s story spreading within the boundaries of his understanding and lighting its dark corners one by one. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. Even if Maxwell’s soul could be repaired, the same couldn’t be said about his sanity. Besides, how did that even work? Did Cole know nothing about it? Or Solas, didn’t Maxwell say the elf had promised to “fix” him somehow? What of the dream? So many questions were unanswered…

“It is possible.” He could hear Cassandra answering. “And I should admit, it is quite relieving to know there may still be a chance for us to bring him back, even though what you’ve just told me… troubles me.”

Cullen glanced up from the book. He wanted to look the Seeker in the eye but suddenly felt unworthy because here they were: he, the friend who all but destroyed Maxwell and was willing to live with that, and Cassandra - the one who actually believed in the former Inquisitor so much she didn’t think twice before sharing such a secret. She was willing to get to him, to free him, and Cullen- he had his reasons, had his truths, but somehow, right now…

“What should I do?” he whispered, and Cassandra reached out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

“Firstly, you need to find out who it truly was whom you saw in your dream. Both this book and Cole’s perception suggest that Maxwell is out of reach, which means that you met someone else. Solas, presumably, though I do not understand why he would want to threaten you.”

“Maybe he blames me for what I did,” Cullen muttered. “Even if he didn’t do any better with his disappearance. Anyway, about Maxwell’s recovery…”

Cassandra tensed visibly: it was obvious what she was hoping to hear. Unfortunately, Cullen’s brain stated that he knew better, and so he wasn’t very eager to provoke unnecessary danger. It would be best to secure Maxwell from Solas’s help, to secure Thedas from the threat they could become…

Still, his heart was singing something entirely different.

 “…I don’t know,” the Commander finished. “When… _if_ we decide to get him back, we should make certain he won’t attack us or plan something that makes us regret.”

The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Cassandra pursed her lips, her disapproval of his _“if”_ pretty evident.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but is he not your friend?” she asked quietly, yet with so much strength behind each word Cullen could almost feel them on his skin. “I’ve seen you together. I’ve seen how you affected each other. You cannot deny he is special to you.”

“Special doesn’t even begin to describe it,” the Commander admitted, reluctant.

Cassandra smiled faintly. “Now I’m starting to recognize you.”

“But…”

“No.” The Seeker raised her free hand, gripped Cullen’s other shoulder. “You’ve spent so many days torturing yourself, telling yourself there is nothing else you can do. That there is no other option. But there is an option, Cullen. You just need to grasp it. And since you did not deny Maxwell as your friend, shouldn’t helping him be your duty?”

Cassandra had always been forceful in her determination, and when she came up with ideas good enough to put everything at stake, that determination became contagious. Cullen watched as it enveloped him once again, coming through the physical contact they were sharing, through the flare in the Inquisitor’s eye.

It was overwhelming.

“I need to think,” he said weakly. “I’m not saying this because I want to refuse the enthusiasm, I just… I need to think. To talk to someone. To Cole and… maybe to Maxwell, too.”

Cassandra nodded and let him go, though hesitantly.

“Of course,” she agreed, lowering herself back on the chair. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I’m not meeting your expectations. It’s a difficult decision.”

“Do not worry, Cullen. I understand.”

“Thank you.”

The Commander rose to his feet, and that action alone was terribly costly. It seemed that the knowledge he had gained, stole the remains of his energy that the previous night hadn’t taken. Cassandra noticed the change and sprung to her feet as well, but Cullen raised a hand to stop her.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I will talk to them, send letters to Dorian and Vivienne, and then sleep for a while. I promise.”

“Forget the letters, I will deal with them,” Cassandra assured him. “And you can leave the recruits to me. As your Inquisitor, I forbid you to leave your bed today. Is that clear?”

Cullen sighed. “Yes, Inquisitor. I will do my best.”

“Good.”

He left the chamber, trying to look as solid as possible, but when the door behind him closed, his knees nearly gave out. The Commander grunted and began walking forward – tired or no, he wanted – _needed_ – to talk to Maxwell at least. He needed to know what the Herald was thinking about. How he remembered his past. If he thought he’d become angry when they brought him back… Cullen needed to know a myriad of things.

He couldn’t believe there was a reason to wonder aloud.

As he went, feelings rose within him, battled against his fears - and the more they clashed, the more exhausted he became. Still, he proceeded, because there was a victor in that uneven battle – the memory of him and Maxwell sharing happiness, supporting each other. Being there for each other. If he was careful… maybe he’d be able to experience that again.  That realization was the power that drove him forward, step by step, and he felt himself slowly surrendering.

Scared but hopeful, Cullen opened the door to the former Inquisitor’s chamber… and found no one there.


	5. Chapter 5

Commander Cullen wasn’t having his best days at Skyhold, and it didn’t get any better when said days turned into nights. Once the sun hid itself completely behind the giant mountains, normal people tended to rush to the warmth of their beds, but it just didn’t work for the Commander that way, and each time he crawled under the blankets and forced his eyes shut, neither colorful dreams, nor peaceful darkness greeted him. An undying feeling of guilt was blooming inside the man, and he didn’t know where to hide from it or if he had a right to do that.

Maxwell had been missing for a week when a significant letter came in and was quickly delivered to the Commander’s working table by Cassandra. The letter wasn’t exactly short, and its contents were drenched in polite patience – a diplomatic trait common to well-educated people. The implication was plain and simple.

_We want him with us. He doesn’t belong with you anymore._

Maxwell’s brothers didn’t find the Tranquility sentence fair - to put it lightly - and Cullen was positive that not unlike Cassandra, they’d have tried to prevent the punishment from happening if they’d seen it coming. They certainly wouldn’t be happy to hear about their brother’s disappearance.

“Maker’s breath…” the Commander sighed, releasing the letter from his grasp. It fell to the table with a soft, barely existent sound. “It seems they have finally found an acceptable place to live.”

Cassandra pushed away from the wall and walked back to the table, her hands folded tightly across her chest. “They aren’t knocking on our door yet,” she said.

“Even if they were, there’s nothing for them here.” Cullen folded the paper. The horizons of a new letter exchange were already presenting themselves in his head. “We don’t know where he is, Solas made sure to hide him well.”

He took a clean sheet of paper.

“His brothers might be pleased to discover that he is on his way to recovery,” Cassandra shrugged. “I know I am.”

“Me too,” Cullen muttered. “He promised to kill me, after all.”

He took a quill, and began writing. The Seeker didn’t interrupt him until the work was done even though Cullen suspected that she wanted.

A week full of endless, desperate searching jumped over the Inquisition’s shoulders and was now far behind with no signs of the former Inquisitor in view. No matter where the agents went, no matter how many houses, forests, or caves they had explored and turned upside down – Maxwell vanished like he was nothing but a faint memory no one needed anymore.

But Cullen needed him. Cassandra needed him too, and his brothers were willing to take him to a new, safer place so that he would find happiness in a harmony that only family could provide. Somewhere in Kirkwall, Varric could be tracing the dusty lines of his unfinished book with the tips of his fingers.

“We’ve got to find him,” the Commander summed up the unhappy thread of these pictures. Maxwell’s face beamed at him. “Even if he wants to kill me, I don’t care. I want to see him.”

“I know.” Cassandra nodded. “And don’t be like that. We do not know if it was him that you saw.”

“Right. Here, you can have this.” He handed over the letter so that the Inquisitor would check it: they developed a habit of sharing every piece of information when it came to Maxwell (even though Cullen was still reluctant to dwell upon the demon subject).

“Thank you.” Cassandra took the paper and smiled at him weakly. “Now comes the rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how tired you are.”

“I’m okay,” the Commander lied.

“No, you’re not. Dinner, then bed.” The Seeker glared at him to get the point through, and at that moment Cullen knew it was pointless to fight back. He sighed, and earned himself another smile.

“Alright.”

***

Love was a difficult word to digest, and usually Cullen avoided thinking about it – especially when it attempted to combine itself with a certain person. That’s how it had always been for the Commander: “love” had long, blazing rivers of hair, it wore myriads of freckles, possessed beautiful curves and bright eyes and a confident smile… and it had a second name he’d used to whisper under his breath when he lay awake in his bed years ago.

Maxwell was the sole reason “love” and “Amell” had begun to tremble under the threat of separation. It was an alien emotion to process, and Cullen was far too used to having that little corner in his mind where he spent precious time embracing the Warden and sharing his feelings with her, promising years of happiness and loyalty.

When the sudden change came, he was scared to let go, and the fact that Maxwell was a man didn’t make it any easier for him. Cullen tried his best to keep the Herald away from danger, though, and eventually he was so focused on saving this friend that he didn’t think twice before listening to his instincts and dashing out of the safe zone. He tried to picture Amell at first, but her willing, full lips were nothing like Maxwell’s, not to mention how fiercely the latter was trying to pry himself away from the Commander’s grip.

“Careful, Commander,” Leliana’s voice reached Cullen’s ears, and he glanced to his left. The Spymaster was sitting by the well, alone and illuminated by a nearby torch. She looked tired but glad to see him. “Cassandra will surely come check if you’re disobeying her orders.”

“I’m heading back,” the man promised, and resumed walking.

The Hero of Ferelden _was_ the first person to come to Cullen’s mind when he thought of love, but ever since he’d covered Maxwell’s lips with his own, the Herald started showing up as well. He observed as the Commander made his promises and kissed the woman, his eyes filled with indescribable sadness, and Cullen felt… wrong. Evil. Some people said that love was a miracle that only appeared once per life – if it was feeling generous, that is. Cullen thought it was a curse, now.

“Commander? Where are you going?” Josephine called after the man, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice.

It was a curse, because while he still tried to connect it to the Hero only, it refused to obey. At the same time, it didn’t want to work well with Maxwell, either. Because Maxwell was a man.

A man couldn’t love another man - that was something Cullen had been taught to believe since childhood.

Yet… when Maxwell was calling out to him, shouting that he loved him, begging him to help, the Commander felt like his heart was splitting in two. Maybe it was the fear of losing friendship, maybe it was guilt, maybe he knew he was doing something wrong - the reality of hurt remained.

And then, when Maxwell sang to him in the chamber, he was suffering even more. Cullen claimed that he didn’t return the Herald’s love, that he only pretended to, but was he completely honest with himself? Maybe, “love” didn’t have blazing rivers of hair and didn’t wear any freckles. Maybe, “love” was the Commander’s willingness to preserve a particular human being, his decision to hurt himself with that knife, his longing to see the Herald again – healthy, smiling. Home.

“No, wait.” Cullen shook his head, trying to clear it. He wasn’t thinking straight again...

And then the Commander looked up and realized he was nowhere near his room. He was standing in the middle of Maxwell’s chamber instead – a chamber, whose only resident these days was silent dust. Moon peered at the man through the half-curtained windows, and Cullen took a shaky breath; there he was again. The place he was afraid to visit.

_Not again. Not until I do something about him. Not until I do something right._

Cullen let the breath back out and was about to turn to the door when a small object on the table caught his attention. It was smooth and white, and the Commander didn’t remember seeing it before. He came closer, carefully. There was no dust on the object, and…

…it was an envelope?

Cullen took it, flipped it over – no address, no names, nothing. It was light and strangely thick, though, and suddenly, it dawned upon the Commander who might have sent it. He ripped the corner open, and his fingers dived in, missing the only thing the envelope contained.

A small locket fell on the table.


	6. Chapter 6

“Smiles, everyone. We must be careful how we present ourselves.”

Josephine dropped those words at the Winter Palace as the Inquisition was riding into the wide open, watery jaws of countless ignorant houses. Leliana – the new Divine – had no choice but to listen to the claims of people, and so the Exalted Council had its attempt at crushing Cassandra’s control over the Inquisition. The Council’s next step would be making the Inquisition bow before either Orlais or Ferelden: while the former wanted to maintain the Inquisition as its instrument of power, the latter couldn’t sleep peacefully until the force was completely disbanded. Neither remembered the bone-chilling dread that had enveloped Thedas during the war against Corypheus, and Leliana’s new position couldn’t make them remember well enough.

At least no one was prepared for it when Cassandra walked out in the middle of the talks.

“Smiles, everyone.”

Those two words became Cullen’s motto for all the days that followed. He locked his heart in an unbreakable cage of memories and allowed himself to cling miserably to his duties now that they were extremely necessary, with qunari corpses, active Eluvians and all.

The locket he’d found a year ago in the former Inquisitor’s chamber was chained safely around his neck. It belonged to Hawke – of that the Commander was sure. It wasn’t difficult to recognize the faces it held, not with how much resemblance they bore to the Champion. The only things Cullen still wondered about were how the envelope had ended up in Maxwell’s chamber and who could have wanted to send it if not Hawke himself. Which would mean he was still breathing somewhere... The Commander didn’t know how to feel about that; if Hawke was intending to reunite with his friend upon his recovery, Cullen had bad news for him.

Maxwell remained hidden from the omnipresent eyes of the Inquisition. It had been terrifying at first, but the feeling dulled with every passing month. No nightmares were as vivid as the one Cullen had had before he found his friend’s chamber empty. That didn’t mean, however, that the Commander lost the desire to meet him again.

“I need you to keep our Eluvian guarded.” Cassandra fished him out of his thoughts. “We don’t want to find Skyhold in ruins when we return. It is our only home.” She turned to face the Ambassador next. “Josephine, I’m counting on you to keep the Council busy.”

“I will attend to it,” the woman promised. Worry was lurking in her eyes like a restless parasite, but she seemed confident enough to fight for what she believed in.

“Good. We will see you later, then. Come on.” Cassandra stepped through the shifting glass and was followed by Varric, Vivienne and Dorian. All three of them had experience when it came to the Fade, and so they were the Inquisition’s best shot. Well, Cole might have been an appreciated support, but for some reason he’d refused to come along.

“Cheer up. We’ll be back in no time and with great news!” Varric smiled at everybody but Cullen as he was entering the mirror. Even knowing that Hawke was alive, he still couldn’t warm up to the Commander.

When they emerged from the Eluvian again, first thing the Inquisition learned was that it had unconsciously stepped into a war with the Qun. Apparently, the Qunari decided that the Inquisition was following Fen'Harel’s orders, their sworn enemy, and for that reason the massacre was unavoidable.  They started with an operation called Dragon’s Breath – it consisted of smuggling explosives into every major house on the southern part of Thedas. Leliana immediately took the matter into her hands and left the other advisors to gather all they knew about Fen’Harel.

“He has a mage agent walking through Eluvians,” Cassandra stated. “The mirrors are linked to each other and provide a secure pathway; the only problem with that is the hostile Qunari warriors who keep appearing everywhere we go.”

“A powerful mage who acts on behalf of an elven god,” Cullen muttered, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I wonder who that might be.”

He had one guess, actually. A long eared, bald headed, treacherous guess.

“There is no mentioning of a human warrior following the agent,” Cassandra objected, noticing the change of his expression. “I don’t think it’s him, Cullen. Either way, we will have to continue exploring the Eluvians until we find something crucial. Said agent, hopefully.”

“Can I come with you?”

The Inquisitor eyed Cullen for a few moments, frowning. “…no. Leliana can’t deal with the explosion issue alone. You should stay and help her.” She stepped closer and placed a firm hand on the Commander’s shoulder. “If I find a trace that belongs to Solas – or Maxwell – you will be the first one to know. Okay?”

Cullen sighed. “Understood.”

***

The Exalted Council was politely furious about the Inquisitor’s prolonged absence. Politely because of the diplomatic nature of Orlais, and furious because of how straightforward Ferelden was. Divine Victoria had her hands full with the Dragon’s Breath, and the only thing she could do was smile and make subtle signs only her trusted agents would recognize. Cullen and Josephine did their best to support both her and the Inquisition as a whole, and their scheme was working, though with a constant screeching noise.

Neither Orlais, nor Ferelden knew the whole story behind the Inquisitor’s quest.

An entire day had passed, and Cassandra still hadn’t returned. The remaining part of Maxwell’s companions left through the Eluvian in order to find her, and they, too, disappeared. That added to the weight, of course, and every remaining advisor was feeling down under the lack of news. The only thing that kept them functioning properly was the absence of qunari invaders which had to mean that something was preventing them from attacking.

On the third day, however, when the sun was descending towards the Winter Palace, the Eluvian’s surface finally shifted. Eight members of the Inquisition emerged from the glass, led by Cassandra Pentaghast who seemed to be distressed by whatever it was that she’d found among Eluvians. Beside her, Varric was smiling in excitement.

The party dispersed in the courtyard, and the Inquisitor hurried to fulfill the promise she had made to a certain Commander. She found him fast asleep at the table in his room, surrounded by papers and books, and it was obvious he’d been working until he passed out… yet Cassandra wasn’t going to break her word. She grabbed Cullen’s shoulder and shook him awake.

“Wh… what…?” the Commander mumbled, raising his head slowly. For a few seconds, he looked like a man who’d worked for a whole week without being blessed with a rest, but then he saw who’d woken him up, and sleep vanished from his eyes. “Cassandra? What happened?”

The woman bit her lip nervously. “He was there, Cullen. Maxwell was there.”

“What?!”

The Commander sprang to his feet and froze, unsure what to do next.

“Solas was the mage agent just like you suspected, and Maxwell was following him around,” the Inquisitor continued. “But we didn’t have enough time to reach any of them. They escaped.”

“Maker’s Breath…” Cullen hid his face under his trembling palms. “He’s not a tranquil anymore, is he? He’s back?”

“He is.” Cassandra nodded. “But I don’t think he wants to meet any of us anymore. He looked rather interested in aiding Solas... though there was one thing he shouted at us when he was leaving, and I think it was meant for you.”

That made the Commander wince. He blinked at the Inquisitor and felt the hairs on his body stand - judging by Cassandra’s grim expression, whatever it was that Maxwell had shouted, it could mean no good. His heart sank.

“What exactly did he shout?” the man asked, and a heavy sigh escaped the Seeker’s lips.

“He said that he’s going to keep his promise.”

The shiver that surged through Cullen’s bones was so powerful he had to sit back down. Cassandra squatted in front of him and took his damaged hand in her own. Squeezed it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Cullen shook his head. “It’s okay. I knew it was coming. Come, let’s warn the others.”

Deep inside the Commander knew that he deserved it. He deserved whatever punishment Maxwell was preparing for him while Cullen wanted nothing more than to beg for forgiveness. Traitors were nothing more than pathetic, infected rats.

Well… at least Maxwell had Solas by his side.

The thought made Cullen feel even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one should be the last.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought this was dead.  
> ...  
> ...  
> ...  
> ...anyone?

Cullen had had sleeping problems before, but now it became a constant torture. It wasn’t just nights, too – during day hours he couldn’t relax either, and it became too difficult to keep a neutral face around the others. Eventually, Cassandra had no choice but to relieve him of duty, and he didn’t attempt to defy that decision because he agreed with it wholeheartedly. Efficiency came first and pride second; if he couldn’t keep up, he was nothing but a nuisance.

He refused to take lyrium.

Cullen still occupied the tower and helped solving issues Cassandra occasionally provided him with. She was well aware of his struggle and made sure to support him like a friend Cullen had never been to Maxwell. Together, they awaited his arrival.

“There’s always a way out,” she promised, sounding so positive Cullen somehow found himself believing her against all odds. “It’s going to be all right.”

He repeated the same words to himself every evening before going to bed: they didn’t soothe the anxiousness he felt, or the relentless anticipation that gave roots to everything, but they did give him hope, even if slightest.

It took a month for Maxwell to fulfill his promise.

The day had been as blank as the ones before it: Cullen spent most of the time with the advisors, trying to care about the Inquisition’s affairs more than he actually did. It was important, he knew, but his mind was long since exhausted beyond acceptable, and he attended only because Cassandra thought it necessary for his well-being. The night, however, was strikingly different.

Cullen was woken up. It felt like mere minutes had passed since he’d fallen asleep.

When he was about to throw his eyelids open, a hand pressed to them, preventing him from seeing anything. Immediately, Cullen tensed all over and wanted to bat it away, but his nose came to rest upon something that felt a lot like an Anchor imprint. Right in the middle of the intruder’s palm…

“W-what…”

“Hello, Commander,” a disturbingly calm voice greeted him, and his body went rigid.

A thousand times. That was how often Cullen had pictured this encounter. Imagined Maxwell appearing by his side with one single intent – to have his rightful revenge carried out. Sometimes, the pictures featured pain and gore, sometimes – swiftness of a sharp blade piercing through his heart. Sometimes, there were even words spoken… Venomous. Unforgiving.

Rarely, understanding.

He wondered what it would be. A thought of calling Cole crossed his mind, but he pushed it away.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Maxwell chuckled, and it sounded way more intimidating than a direct death threat. “Thought you’d have something to say. It’s been years, after all.”

What could Cullen say, though? He shifted, licking his lips, and his fingers bumped into the Herald’s knee: apparently, Maxwell was sitting cross-legged beside him. The man didn’t flinch away, and his hand remained where it was on top of Cullen’s closed eyes.

“Solas gave me a choice, and I came all the way here to kill you,” he muttered with a sigh. “Funny how difficult it turns out to be. I still can’t get rid of this sick feeling...”

“Maxwell -”

“Sh-h…” The Herald cut him off. “I thought about this enough. Had all the time in the world. Did you know the Rite of Tranquility sometimes has a funny effect on those who’re carrying demons in their consciousness?”

“Maxwell-”

The Herald ignored him and went on. “I didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t know where I was – or who. Only that it was agonizing. Envy disappeared, but I could feel its fury burning inside me. So I tried to reach you. Believed you deserved punishment for your treachery... and look at me now. One glance at you, and I can’t raise my hand against you. So foolish…”

He trailed off, thoughtful. Cullen’s chest was heaving, and emotions were tearing him apart like predators, so many of them at once: guilt, concern, dependence, longing… His tongue felt like it was made of stone, though, refused to form it all into words.

He tried to convey what he felt through his actions then. His free hand rose to the Herald’s face, fingers brushing against his cheek. Maxwell let out a shaky breath.

“I still love you, you know,” he muttered. “I hate you so much, too, but… in the end, I just can’t bring myself to harm you.”

Cullen felt the man move, and the next moment a pair of warm, familiar lips pressed to his mouth. It was a brief kiss, surprisingly chaste, and Maxwell was retreating before he knew it. The hand was withdrawn from his eyes, and the mattress shifted under the Herald’s weight as he got off the bed.

“I should leave this place,” he said, walking towards the ladder down. “Leave my past behind. Leave _you_ behind.”

Cullen’s heart rate jumped to insanely fast as he watched the man go. Maxwell looked much thinner than he remembered, sicker, and his clothes were plain – those of a poor peasant. Still, his appearance radiated power, some form of it Cullen couldn’t quite decipher.

From what the Herald had said, it was evident that he wanted to abandon his former life. Killing was no longer his purpose, and vengeance was put aside…

…yet Cullen felt utterly devastated. Broken. He’d spent months living this day. Didn’t know what to do with himself once Maxwell was out of grasp. He’d been too invested.

Cullen swallowed.

“No.”

By the ladder, Maxwell halted. He stood still for a second, then barked a short laugh. “You don’t get a say in this, Commander.”

Cullen took a deep breath. “Wait.”

This time, the Herald turned around abruptly to face him. His eyes were burning red and green, and the mark on his forehead had been distorted into something unrecognizable. He looked so… inhuman. Evil. Cullen bit his tongue, stunned by the reveal.

“Listen… I know you’re angry,” he mumbled through stupor. “I betrayed you. Left you to suffer…”

As he spoke, Maxwell’s face changed, becoming less angry and more wary. He made a step back, to the edge of the floor.

“I won’t say I made the wrong call,” Cullen continued. “You wanted to kill people. Good people. Innocent people. _Our_ people. I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Not when I came to, I didn’t,” the Herald grunted through his teeth. “I begged for your help, Cullen. Humiliated myself in front of you. You could’ve found another way out…”

“You think so? You took red lyrium! Believe me when I say I didn’t have much of a choice. And I’ve been suffering ever since you vanished! All I dreamed of was to see you again – _you_ – even if it meant losing my life.”

“Cullen-”

“I’m not scared of dying. But I’m scared of losing you.”

Maxwell stared at him. The unnatural mix of colors was entrancing.

“You’re so weak,” he finally said, smiling – the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Then the Herald turned around and placed his foot on the ladder, about to leave. Cullen felt his heart shatter.

“I really… really need you,” he whispered.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes, you are,” Maxwell assured him. His voice was trembling, but it seemed like he wasn’t going to grant Cullen’s wish anyway. “I won’t disturb you ever again, so do yourself a favor and stop losing your sleep already. Goodbye.”

Cullen was powerless to stop him. Even if he tried, he realized, that would only end badly for both of them. He couldn’t hold Maxwell against his will.

“You can’t disappear without a trace...” he pointed out. “If you leave, I swear, I’ll look for you. Day and night, I- Me and Cassandra, we’ll look for you. Until we find you.”

“…heh. Well. Good luck with that,” Maxwell shrugged, hiding his face.

“Hawke’s alive.”

“What-”

Predictably, that made the Herald stop dead on his tracks. He looked up with an expression that countered every emotion Cullen had seen on him so far. “…what did you just say?”

“I found his locket on your table a year after you disappeared,” Cullen explained reluctantly. He owed that much to Maxwell. With a deep sigh, he walked up to the nearest chest and opened it, picking up the locket from one of its sections. He held it up, and Maxwell’s eyes glued to it on instant. He recognized it.

“It’s yours,” Cullen finished, approaching the man and handing him the object.

The Herald didn’t respond, and he obviously couldn’t look away from it. His breath was coming out ragged as if he’d just run a mile. It rubbed Cullen the wrong way.

“Do whatever you want,” he said. “Just know that I’ll be searching for you.”

Maxwell glanced at him one last time with a face that would have made the former Commander embrace him if that had been an option. After that, the Herald simply stepped back and fell through the hole in the floor – startled, Cullen bolted forward to see if he was fine, but the floor below was empty.

He found the guards outside, fast asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

“You slept poorly again,” was the first thing Cassandra said when the former Commander entered her chamber the following morning. She watched as Cullen wordlessly approached the table she was sitting at, then lowered the report she’d been reading. “But you look different today. Did something happen?”

Cullen halted in front of the table and clasped his hands behind his back, straightening up and raising his head in a manner that suggested hopefulness and even a little bit of excitement – something Cassandra hadn't seen in him for _years_. There were dark spots under his eyes, and his skin lacked its former, healthy color, but at the same time he seemed… well-rested. Relieved.

“Cullen…?” the Inquisitor uttered, standing up, and the man did something she hadn’t been expecting to see any time soon.

He smiled.

***

The following two weeks became the spectators of Cullen’s recovery both as the person he’d used to be and the Commander of Skyhold. It was amazing how much a single encounter with Maxwell could achieve; thinking, talking, moving, _living_ – everything Cullen had been doing before the night they reunited became so much easier, so much more important. He had a new purpose now, a way to redeem himself, and following it was what made his days colorful. What made him believe again.

Internal changes weren’t the only ones he was going through, but they were the foundation. Without numerous worries to feed upon, Cullen’s nightmares quickly came to naught, and so did his usual routine of lying awake for hours before finally dozing off. His appetite increased, brightness returned to his eyes, and his movements were no longer stiff or draining – it felt like Maxwell had opened a new source of energy somewhere within him, and Cullen drank from it, hungrily, every day.

He eagerly took back the title of Commander. Work wasn’t very challenging anymore, and battle trainings could easily go without him, so he paid more attention to each piece of news the Inquisition agents frequently brought in. He wasn’t looking just for Maxwell or Solas now – there was also Hawke, and if he found the Champion, chances were he’d find the former Inquisitor too.

Naturally, all three of them were quite good at evading the omnipresent eyes and ears of Skyhold, and it took weeks to make some progress.

…even though it wasn’t Cullen, or Cassandra, or anyone else from the Inquisition who made it.

***

It was early morning, and Cullen was on the verge of awakening, his eyelids fluttering as he pursued the dream that was drifting away from him and yet beckoning. The blanket was wrapped around his body like a cocoon, warm – a little _too_ warm, perhaps – but he ignored it, and grasped every minute of rest he could get. Loud chatter from the courtyard below didn’t reach him, merry songs of nature didn’t reach him, and neither did the sound of someone climbing up the ladder.

When the mattress shifted, he sighed and pulled the blanket over his shoulders because his inner clock knew he still had ten minutes or so, and he didn’t want to undermine the recovery. Whoever it was, they could wait-

_Shadows fall, and hope has fled_ _  
Steel your heart, the dawn will come…_

He jolted awake faster than his brain grasped what was happening. Maxwell leaned away just in case, chuckling, and waited for the man to come round.

“Can’t get used to me singing, I see,” he clicked his tongue. “And I practiced...”

“Maxwell?!”

Cullen turned to face him abruptly, eyes wide and hair tousled, and the former Inquisitor nodded. Like the Commander, he’d changed since their last meeting: gained some weight, some color to his skin and some vigor to his eyes – literally. His clothes were still plain, though, and Cullen wondered where he’d spent the last two weeks. Wanted to ask him about it. The only thing he could say, however, was:

“You came back…”

Maxwell nodded again, looking to the side. His cheerfulness faded. “Guess I did. Had to. There’s news.”

“News…?”

“Yeah. Bad ones.”

There, Cullen had to admit – at least to himself – that the moment he saw Maxwell again, he kind of hoped there was no pressing matter behind that decision.  He shook his head, pushed the thought away; if Maxwell needed his help, he was more than ready to provide it.

“What happened?” he asked.

The Herald looked back at him, uncertain. “This… probably requires some backstory,” he said. “See, I’ve been living with Solas for the past years. He helped me come back from Tranquility ­­– I have no idea how, he just appeared in front of me at some point and pulled me out of it – and then, when I came to, helped me regain my strength.”

Cullen listened closely. He’d been wondering about this for a long while now.

“He taught me things. How to navigate the Fade should I find myself trapped in it. How to stay hidden. To defend myself. I… I didn’t think it was suspicious.” Maxwell trailed off for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then went on, “Solas was always there to save me, to guide me. And then, half a week ago, he just… disappeared.”

Cullen hummed thoughtfully. He couldn’t really explain it; what the Herald was saying didn’t sound awfully intimidating, but for some reason he couldn’t get rid of a weird, uneasy feeling that was swelling in his gut. Like something ominous was looming over him. So he listened.

“Before Solas left, he sometimes used to tell me that he made some really bad choices. That he was sorry. That he wanted to make things right again even if it meant rebuilding me and the whole world from scratch. Told me who he was – and believe me, I was as stunned as you’re about to be – he’s a god. The Dread Wolf.”

Cullen furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief. “Solas… is a god?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell nodded. “It’s not that surprising if you think about everything he’s capable of. Just accept it as a fact. I did. Anyway, before I came back to this place, I was angry at you and thought Hawke was dead. There was no one but Solas I could cling to.”

Cullen noticed how the Herald’s hand dived into the opening of his shirt, seeking the locket he was now wearing around his neck.

“But that night changed me, and I think Solas picked up on that. Maybe that’s why he didn’t take me with him. I remember him whispering when I was sleeping; he told me he was going to restore his people, and that would harm the world that already exists. Said I should use my time wisely. Make up my mind.”

“And you…”

“I came here,” Maxwell confirmed his guess. “Commander, I think he’s up to something destructive. World-sized destructive.”

Cullen didn’t need to hear more. “I understand. I shall call a meeting. Come with me.”

He rolled off the bed and came up to the chest where he kept his clothes neatly folded. Maxwell stayed where he was.

“…no, I can’t go with you,” he said reluctantly. Cullen looked up at him.

“Because we sentenced you? We can make this meeting private,” he assured the man, pulling on his working garments. “You have nothing against that, have you?”

The mattress shifted again.

“Cullen.” Suddenly, two hands grabbed the Commander’s shoulders and forced him around. Time stilled, and he felt the contact seething through his clothes and skin.

Maxwell was close.

“What…?” he asked a little nervously. “You came here looking for help, didn’t you?”

“I came to _you_ ,” Maxwell corrected him. The stare he directed into Cullen’s eyes traveled through his nerves to his very core. “The advisors are important, and I care about them all. I care about the Inquisition – about the world, too. But I came to you. Do you know why?”

Cullen swallowed. “Why?”

“Because, not unlike you, Solas is my friend. He may be on the wrong path, but I don’t want to threaten him like I know the Inquisition will. I won’t turn my back on him after what he did to keep me safe. And I’m telling you this because you deserve a chance, and I know you will do the right thing.”

The Commander looked down at his feet. He didn’t want to admit it, but he understood. Maxwell’s dilemma wasn’t much different from the one he’d made years ago, after all.

“I…”

“You’re getting it,” Maxwell saw through his hesitation. “Good. I also came to you because I know you will let me go. You have to.”

He didn’t release the Commander’s shoulders as he was saying that, though. Cullen’s knees buckled under the weight of guilt that was dropped on his back again, and he suddenly saw what it could have been like if he’d had the same fierce loyalty Maxwell possessed. If he’d chosen to support him instead of punishing him.

Was the former Inquisitor making the wrong call? He couldn’t say…

“Maker…”

His arms wrapped around Maxwell’s chest on their own accord, and he pressed the man to his wounded, rapidly beating heart, clinging to him for dear life. Taken aback, Maxwell stiffened against him at first, then slowly relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen mumbled into his neck, trembling. “I’m so sorry I left you there…”

The Herald lowered his head.

“Ah.” He let out a breath that sounded both surprised and knowing, and his hands slid down to rub the Commander’s back soothingly.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Cullen whispered, clutching him tighter. “I thought it was necessary, but I was wrong-”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Maxwell asked him. “I know what you mean. It’s alright.”

But the Commander was nowhere near stopping. When Maxwell placed a comforting kiss to his temple, he lifted his head and found the man’s lips with his own, putting every ‘sorry’ he’d been storing up for the past few years into it. The Herald gasped but didn’t lean away – and couldn’t, because Cullen’s hands flew up to his cheeks and locked their faces together.

It was urgent. Desperate. Up until now the Commander hadn’t been realizing how much he wanted this back. How he wanted to have Maxwell within his reach. How he missed their times together, their friendly fights and moments of peace.

Then Maxwell was answering, and his mind went blank.

It took minutes for Cullen to calm down, but he didn’t let go even when they stopped. Maxwell didn’t seem to mind the hold, though, and a small smile played on his lips.

“This was… unexpected,” he said somewhat absently. “If this is how you plan on apologizing each time you make me tranquil, I might not mind another thousand rites.”

“No. No, let’s not go there again,” Cullen disagreed, pressing their foreheads together. “How about you just come back here every now and then? This will be our greeting.”

“And here I was thinking I’d warn you and disappear for good…”

Cullen leaned away at that, frowning. “You still want to?”

The Herald’s smile softened.

“I should continue my search. Write a few lines to Varric, too.” He stole another kiss, a brief one, and then freed himself from the man’s arms. “Wish me luck.”

The Commander bit his lip as he watched the Herald walk up to the ladder. His whole being was screaming at him to do something, to grab the Herald and never let go. He felt empty, and aching, severely – yet, just like Maxwell had said, he had to stand back.

Maxwell deserved his freedom.

“I wish you luck,” Cullen said. “The Inquisition will be informed, and I… I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Heh. Gonna be quite a wait.” Maxwell flashed one last glance at his face. Grinned. “But yeah, alright. You win. I _will_ return.”

And then he vanished, and Cullen was left all alone, at the end – to create a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is where I'm finishing this story because I simply don't know what happens after the Inquisition. This is by no means the end of Maxwell's and Cullen's relationship, and we'll see what happens next... when it happens.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around! I hope you guys aren't disappointed with the ending, it took ages to write it haha XDDD  
> Love you all, take care!  
> /waves


End file.
